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The loud roar filled the circus tent, frightened children clung to their parents, screaming in terror as the ferocious beast lunged at them. The circus-goers all closed their eyes, all knowing that this was their end. There was a loud roar again, this time it sounded hurt. Eyes were opening everywhere, looking up to see the golden lion, roped around its neck, like a lead that most dogs in the tent had broken free of, in hope of escape, which was useless as the lion would not have hurt them. On top of the lion’s fiery mane sat a girl, long bronze curls, flying in the wind.
Standing on the chest of drawers, still in her nightdress, Henrietta looked down at her dolls, that all lay motionlessly on the carpet. She stared down at the mouse in her hand, which looked like a pom pom with the lion-mane hat that Etta had sewn him. “Come on, Tony. Let’s go down to the kitchens, the cooks may have saved the leftovers.”
The floorboards creaked as she walked past the dining hall, where Mr & Mrs Carlton, and Henrietta’s governess; Miss Hallen were discussing their plans for Henrietta’s education for the next few years. “Uhhhhh, why can’t they send me to an actual school with actual friends. No offense Tony.” She whispered to the blonde-furred mouse on her shoulder.
At last the warm light of the kitchen came to view, “You going in first,” and when the mouse gave her a questioning look, “because they won’t notice you if they haven’t gone to their bedchambers yet.” The tiny mouse squeaked in agreement and scurried into the kitchens, when no shouting or banging of rolling pins could be heard, Etta went in too.
Smells good and bad, raced to Henrietta’s now as she stepped into the yellow light of the kitchens. She looked around at the tables, where usually she’d find a slice of bread or a spare bowl of soup, but tonight the tables were spotless, not even a crumb was left on them. “Well Tony, I guess we’ll have to make our own midnight snack tonight.”
All at once she and Tony were hurrying around the room to find the cooking materials to make a meal. Back to the table, they had only managed to grab two things, only one of which could be useful. Henrietta had found a cookbook that looked millions of years old, and Tony only managed to carry one tablespoon. “I think that we’ll be able to find something in here.” said Etta as she turned the first brown page of the book, Tony gave a squeak of agreement and peered over the thick pages of the book his mistress was looking at.
They had gone over the 500 pages of the old cookbook ten times until they found a recipe that looked delicious: with Sourdough bread and for dessert, and a delicious jam and berry tart. On the corner of the wood coloured page was a scribbled handwriting saying,
This is my favourite, please try.
Arcelia Carlton
Straight away Henrietta went to the cupboard where she’d found the book, and took out an equally old-looking frying pan. “Don’t worry,” she said before Tony had a chance to squeak in disgust, “It is perfectly clean.”
The soup was made quickly and consumed in double that time along with the sourdough that Henrietta took from the 10 loaves of bread that her family owned. “Alright Tony, let's make this tart.” Around the room she and Tony went again, Tony watching Etta find the flour and strawberry jam and put them on the table. She threw the ingredients in the pan and mixed them up. It looked nothing like a pie, it looked like Henrietta was making a berry crumble.
Warmth filled the little kitchen as Etta threw more wood into the stove. The pan sat on top, jam sizzling with heat. “Hey Tony, I’m going to try and see what’ll happen if I flip the pan like the cooks do with the eggs in the morning.” With no answer from Tony, Henrietta knew he meant no, but she flipped the pan anyway. The pan nearly fell as a tingly feeling crawled up her arm. Guessing it was only the heat, Etta flipped the pan again, the same tingle crawled its way up her other arm. Still thinking it was just the heat, she did it again.
Suddenly the room was black and it felt as if she was buried in ice. All the sounds she’d heard before were gone, the sizzling of the pan, the occasional squeak from Tony. She was is a nowhere.
Standing on the chest of drawers, still in her nightdress, Henrietta looked down at her dolls, that all lay motionlessly on the carpet. She stared down at the mouse in her hand, which looked like a pom pom with the lion-mane hat that Etta had sewn him. “Come on, Tony. Let’s go down to the kitchens, the cooks may have saved the leftovers.”
The floorboards creaked as she walked past the dining hall, where Mr & Mrs Carlton, and Henrietta’s governess; Miss Hallen were discussing their plans for Henrietta’s education for the next few years. “Uhhhhh, why can’t they send me to an actual school with actual friends. No offense Tony.” She whispered to the blonde-furred mouse on her shoulder.
At last the warm light of the kitchen came to view, “You going in first,” and when the mouse gave her a questioning look, “because they won’t notice you if they haven’t gone to their bedchambers yet.” The tiny mouse squeaked in agreement and scurried into the kitchens, when no shouting or banging of rolling pins could be heard, Etta went in too.
Smells good and bad, raced to Henrietta’s now as she stepped into the yellow light of the kitchens. She looked around at the tables, where usually she’d find a slice of bread or a spare bowl of soup, but tonight the tables were spotless, not even a crumb was left on them. “Well Tony, I guess we’ll have to make our own midnight snack tonight.”
All at once she and Tony were hurrying around the room to find the cooking materials to make a meal. Back to the table, they had only managed to grab two things, only one of which could be useful. Henrietta had found a cookbook that looked millions of years old, and Tony only managed to carry one tablespoon. “I think that we’ll be able to find something in here.” said Etta as she turned the first brown page of the book, Tony gave a squeak of agreement and peered over the thick pages of the book his mistress was looking at.
They had gone over the 500 pages of the old cookbook ten times until they found a recipe that looked delicious: with Sourdough bread and for dessert, and a delicious jam and berry tart. On the corner of the wood coloured page was a scribbled handwriting saying,
This is my favourite, please try.
Arcelia Carlton
Straight away Henrietta went to the cupboard where she’d found the book, and took out an equally old-looking frying pan. “Don’t worry,” she said before Tony had a chance to squeak in disgust, “It is perfectly clean.”
The soup was made quickly and consumed in double that time along with the sourdough that Henrietta took from the 10 loaves of bread that her family owned. “Alright Tony, let's make this tart.” Around the room she and Tony went again, Tony watching Etta find the flour and strawberry jam and put them on the table. She threw the ingredients in the pan and mixed them up. It looked nothing like a pie, it looked like Henrietta was making a berry crumble.
Warmth filled the little kitchen as Etta threw more wood into the stove. The pan sat on top, jam sizzling with heat. “Hey Tony, I’m going to try and see what’ll happen if I flip the pan like the cooks do with the eggs in the morning.” With no answer from Tony, Henrietta knew he meant no, but she flipped the pan anyway. The pan nearly fell as a tingly feeling crawled up her arm. Guessing it was only the heat, Etta flipped the pan again, the same tingle crawled its way up her other arm. Still thinking it was just the heat, she did it again.
Suddenly the room was black and it felt as if she was buried in ice. All the sounds she’d heard before were gone, the sizzling of the pan, the occasional squeak from Tony. She was is a nowhere.